I just want to go watch

Twin Peaks

with my very own 

Twin Peaks

drooping sideways over 

my ribs.

I would scrunch my neck up 

and peer down alongside my nose

to see Agent D.C. record 

some funnymemos to Diane.

I could be horizontal

amid flannel sheets with flannel pants

and hey why not a flannel shirt.

But I have not written a poem yet today.

So this blob must instead blog.